


Ian in Wonderland

by Aromance91



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medicated Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapist Mickey Milkovich, crazy thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aromance91/pseuds/Aromance91
Summary: Ian is heavily medicated when he gets admitted to the psych ward.





	Ian in Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble. pointless really, I wrote it for myself. I wrote the skeleton for this when I was having a really bad time and it reflected my experience in a way that works for me. My alter ego is Alice and in this story that is Ian. This is a one-shot but if people like it I could make it a WIP minus the rhyming. That is unique to Ian being medicated but the Wonderland references will stay. We shall see. As of now, it stands alone.
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHT AND IDEATIONS NO CHARACTER DEATHS OR SUICIDE ATTEMPTS***

He was exhausted. Sleep threatened his eyes but the stretcher below him was like ice and the beeping from the heart monitor was like a  _ tap tap tap _ on his brain. His eyes were closed but he could sense the prying eyes of the EMTs. He’d become so accustomed to the feeling. They didn’t know him, what he did or why he did it. They just saw some crazy teenager who wanted to end it all, someone who said fuck you to himself and the world. 

 

People always told him to share his emotions, to express how he was feeling. He would try but it was uncomfortable, people just didn’t get it. What came so natural to them was foreign to him. How could you explain the feeling of empty to someone who has never been less than whole? Even on his best day’s, he felt like he was wearing the mask of a smile and not for his sake, but for everyone else. He was Ian Gallagher. The middle child, the older brother to three. He was supposed to join the Army and make something of his life but one bad decision at a time and here he was. His heart, broken from his lack of follow through, and thought of waking to feel another day of pain was suffocating.

 

He felt the ambulance stop then he was being lifted off and rolled inside of a large building. He blinked his eyes open only to be blinded by the screaming bright lights. This must be the hospital. 

 

_ “It’s gonna be ok Sweetface. This is for the best. We love you, they’ll help you here.” _

 

Fiona seemed so sad but the look of relief is what pierced his heart. It was only proof of what he was already feeling. He was a burden, a sick twisted puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit anywhere and not for lack of trying.

 

He heard a voice but couldn’t pick out what they were saying. Everything seemed far away. Like he was floating away and watching them from afar. The meds were kicking in. With the sway of his head, he followed the voice and it led to a tall thin EMT. He had buzzed blonde hair and a kind face with a strong jaw. If he wasn’t being admitted he might try to get his number but then why saddle someone else with the mess that was… Ian Gallagher. The EMT ushered for him to get up so he did. He sat up and the room was rocking from the sedation. The dark of the ambulance left him in his mind but here his eyes were playing tricks on him. A shadowy figure walked over to him and grabbed his bags from the bottom of the stretcher before telling him to follow.

 

He jumped down and thought about running, he would go far away from everyone and then he could fade away. There would be no one to look over his shoulder, no one to explain his feelings too. He would be free to not be. 

 

He wouldn’t run.  He would stay because underneath all the pain and the vast emptiness, he wanted what everyone wanted, to be heard and to be loved. He couldn’t see a future anymore and when he tried it always seemed to fail him, there was a time though. Back before his world started to crumble that he had love, life, and dreams. He wanted that back. 

 

That’s why he couldn’t do it.

 

He had the plan, did the research. He was comfortable with the idea. People would move on, they always did, it was the way of life. He’d lost friends to their demons and at first, he cried, had memorials...but as the years pass you just move on. He was ok with that. He was ready for the pain to stop, at least he thought. There was a lyric from a song he listened to that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t the only one, there were others like him caught in the struggle of living in limbo.

 

_ “But I'm empty inside, yeah, I'm empty inside _

_ And I don't wanna live, but I'm too scared to die _

_ Yeah I'm empty inside, I just don't feel alive _

_ And I don't wanna live, but I'm too scared to die” _

 

Hearing that song was one of the few things that didn’t make him feel alone. How could lyrics from someone he’d never met, someone rich and famous resonate so deep?

 

Simple. The words were true.

 

He hated living. Not his life, don’t get that wrong. His life wasn’t a problem. Sure it was hard and things always fell apart, but he had a family that loved him and good friends. The problem was him. He could have the whole world cheering him on but he still felt alone, lost and like he didn’t belong. Therapy was a bandaid. A once a week visit to someone who can read him like an open book and draw all of his issues to the surface. Open his closet full of skeletons only to discover new bodies waiting to decay and be buried away with the rest.

 

It was too much. He didn’t have the tool in his box to go digging around the darkness of his mind. Why explore when he could just live there? People needed to just leave him to his darkness and move on. They couldn’t though, they always had to ask how he was feeling and why he was so quiet. Because he was fucking crazy that’s why. How do you explain that? You don’t You just live or try to live each day until you can’t. He couldn’t anymore.

 

So instead he told someone how he was feeling. Someone he could trust to not freak out. He told her about his feelings, about his means, and about his plan. It felt good to say it out loud, to truly accept his choice. That was until the ambulance came and took him away. Deep down he knew it would happen. He was scared but tired.

 

The shadow led him down the hall. One foot in front of the other. The walls were melting. Where was the floor? He spun around to see the way he came was gone and only emptiness was left in its place. A black void. He stumbled back into something and turned to see the shadow come into focus. It was a man, young maybe 23. 

 

**HELLO, MY NAME IS ARLEN**

 

His eyes scanned over the name tag as the man talked his words buzzing around the room but never landing in his ears. Arlen looked at him with a sympathetic smile. He glanced away avoiding his gaze. Keep your sympathy, Arlen. He gave him a small cup with two pills. He took them. Why not?

 

By the time he was done being pricked and probed and measured he felt like a lab rat. He could see the sun shining through the blinds and just behind them the bar covered windows. Was this a hospital or a prison?

 

“All done and time for fun.” Arlen opened the door gesturing him to follow.

 

“My stuff?” He cringed when he heard his voice. It was tired and broken, just like him.

 

“That stuff you no longer need, it belongs to your other life.”

 

“No, it’s mine”

 

“Nothing is yours here. Yours is mine and mine is his” he pointed out the door again.

 

He grabbed his head feeling sick to his stomach, why was he speaking in riddles? “Who is he? Where am I? What’s happening to me?”

 

“Follow me.”

 

He followed the nurse out of the small room and down the hall into a larger room. It reminded him of a hospital waiting room the way it was set up. What stood out was the desk in the corner. It was decorated with bright colored flyers and on the wall behind it were drawings and the occasional watercolor.

 

“Ian Gallagher?”

 

His eyes floated to see a man  with the smile as wide as a cat, black hair and blue eyes. The man walked over to him and took his hand. With his touch, the walls wobbled and carpet changed colors. 

 

“Welcome Ian, we’re glad that you came” the man pointed to a table with people dressed in scrubs playing Jenga. “Come with me and sit, we’ve just started our game.” 

 

He turned to see his nurse had disappeared along with the small room. He looked back to the mysterious dark-haired man then wandered over to the table. All eyes turned to him and the room started to shrink. 

 

He backed away “I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to play your stupid game. I just wanted it all to be over with so I can stop the pain.” Why was he speaking in rhyme now? Where was he?

 

The man stood up and wrote something on his clipboard then gave him a quick glance. This was all so weird, he should have run when he had the chance. Shit! Now he was thinking the same way they talked. Why was this happening? He needed it to stop. 

 

Mickey gaze pierced through his sou,l lighting up a fire he thought was dead. For the first time, he wondered if someone else could see the demons that lurked around in his head. The ones he kept under lock and key until one after another they slithered out taking little pieces of his sanity. The man walked over and touched his arm pulling him to the side, he was lost in the blue of his eyes and for a second he was happy that he hadn’t died. 

 

His eyes were hypnotic, they drew him in, along with the pale skin they laid on and the sturdiness of his chin. 

 

He read the tag on the man's shirt it was but 4 letters long. MICK. Mick mick Mickey, what the fuck, why was everything wrong? Why was he lost in this strange place? He locked eyes with Mick, studying his face.  “I don’t wanna talk about anything, I don’t want your judgment or pitty. I just wanna leave this world so I can finally stop feeling so shitty. Let me go. You don’t know me, so why do you care? It’s not like your life would be affected if I wasn’t there.”

 

Mickey leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Don’t you see Mr. gallagher? You’re missing the point. You will be missed, that's the same reason everyone one is in this joint.” Mickey gestured around the room “When you fall down the rabbit hole and lose your strength to stand, they ship you here to Wonderland.”

 

“Wonderland?” He took a step back until the coolness of the wall stopped him in his tracks.

 

“That’s right kiddo, here with me. Don’t worry though cause I care, one day you’ll see.”

 

He shook his head because how could this be? Wonderland was make-believe, it was a story. “You’re lying. Get away. I’m not meant to be here, I don’t want to stay.”

 

Mickey touched his arm and the room came to a stop. His touch was gentle and warm and make his knees want to drop. He could hear the beat of his heart race through his ears, it was as if the world stopped turning and time broke one of it’s gears.

 

“You look tired Ian, you need some rest. Let’s get you to bed, it’s for the best.” 

 

Mickey fingers trailed from his arm to his hand, squeezing tight. He wanted to pull away but it felt strangely right. Who was this keeper of Wonderland?

 

“I..I’m tired” he stammered his voice soft and afraid broken. “I wanna go home.”

 

“You are home Gallagher, you’re here with me. I told you in Wonderland no one comes because they’re happy. Here we heal, we fix, we mend.” Mickey led him down the hall to a room. “Here is the one place you truly do have a friend. Now change your clothes and try not to fret, once you give in, the better you’ll get.” 

 

He sat down in his bed feeling the fight drip away. If this is where he was supposed to be maybe he should stay. He crawled in the covers pulling them up to his chest, he already missed his family..but not the rest. Mickey seemed sincere, he had that look in his eye. A look that as he stood there made him start to cry. 

 

It was real now, it finally hit home. He felt the bed dip and saw blue eyes again. Maybe he wasn’t alone. “Will I ever leave here? Can I ever go?”

 

Mickey reached out and brushed his hair behind his ear, “Rest now Ian, when the time comes you’ll know.”

 

He nodded unable to continue the fight. The room started to come into focus and something about being there felt right. He closed his eyes and felt the world fade away. For once he was happy to go on living another day.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. Let me know if you want this story to continue. Again the rhyme is because of Ian’s sedation. xo


End file.
